


Fire

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Mianite [21]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite Fandom, Realm of Mianite - Fandom, fan season-3
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Poetic, unrevised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: The day she was born, it was said that Anya’s heart burned bright with passion.
Series: Mianite [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678990
Kudos: 4





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BuddyBuddyPalBuddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyBuddyPalBuddy/gifts).



The day she was born, it was said that Anya’s heart burned bright with passion. Her cries had been loud and strong, her lungs full and ready to be heard.

As she grew she crackled into a fire. She was energy, bountiful and carefree. The life of her family. Her parents would toil away, pushing and pushing to keep themselves afloat, and she would fill them with love and cheer. She was a light, throwing the darkness aside for the people she met.

But then reality struck her. The despair that coated the poor life. How peace and comfort was kept atop a cliff of which the climb was treacherous. Slick with mud and ridden with sharp, cruel rocks.

The fear of the people she loved was a whipping wind around her. How they knew that one slip up could render them unable to provide, how one illness could starve their family. Everyone lived day to day, meal to meal, prayer to prayer.

Where were their gods?

People cultivated and grew the means of life- crops, animals, textiles- but they never saw it back. Their backs ached with the weight of their labor. Lungs burdened with each breath.

How was this just?

They were watched with judgemental, prejudiced eyes. Prodded like animals with the sharp end of a lance. Had wicked grins bared at them, all teeth, when they showed weakness. A life devoted to making life. A body made to live forced to be used.

How was this balanced?

They starved. They pushed. They worked. They craved. Yet, they never received. Again and again, they were beaten down, shoved under the shoes of those in power. Kept under a tight fist of so called order.

Where was the chaos?

The chaos was in every clenched fist of an abused worker whose stomach stung with the pains of hunger. It was in the grit teeth of a farmer as a man with a fancy stick jabbed and taunted them. Laced in hushed words between families who had suffered long enough.

And it was in Anya.

Her burning heart blazed bright at the injustice of her people. The flames were fed kindling after kindling at every moment she witnessed them get beaten down. The gust of fear fanned the flames of her passion.

Her people called for relief. She called for rebellion.

The flames shone in her eyes as she spoke out. They whispered in her movements. Followed her footsteps. A passion that was infectious.

It ate up the dry grass of the worker’s abuse. Spread in an instant over the fertile ground of anger. Her words were the fuel to a wildfire of the coming revolt.

Where was justice? Where was balance? Where was chaos?

It lived in the workers, she’d cry, in every breath you take to keep your family safe. It lived in the kind, she’d decree, who would give what little they had to help others. It lived in the suffering, she’d shout, who saw the pain the system caused and rose to destroy it.

If the world denied them the help they needed, they must create it. If it took away their justice, torn balance from their hands, ripped peace from their hearts, they must take it back.

To lie down and accept defeat is to die one hundred deaths. Would it not, she’d ask, be better to die in an act of rebellion than to die every day in an act of servitude?

But make no mistake. Her passion was not a weapon. It was not a means to destroy, nor a reason to kill. It was made to cause change, to protect and uplift.

There was fire in her heart and anger in her veins, but she refused to put blood on her hands.

They were held under the thumb of the unjust authority through violence. To fall to violence to remove it would cause retaliation. A circle of violence. Of death.

If justice were to be had, peace to be won, they must find it without moving to harm. Show that they are not savages forcing their way into power, but people crying out for better lives. They could not let those who thought themselves better to find more ways to debase them.

Otherwise, they will forever be animals left out for slaughter.


End file.
